


There's A Perfect House On A Perfect Little Hill

by KilltheDJ



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album)
Genre: Only mentions., lil bit dark, mentions of domestic violence, origin story of sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:27:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23323948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KilltheDJ/pseuds/KilltheDJ
Summary: The Kobra Kid wasn't always the Kobra Kid. Before he was the motorbaby the Desert cheered for, he was the kid staring at the family photo at the end of the hall.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 24





	There's A Perfect House On A Perfect Little Hill

Kobra didn’t know what he was doing.

The meds weren’t working. He didn’t know why they weren’t working, but he only took them because they made him stop  _ wanting to kill himself  _ and they  _ weren’t working _ and that’s not even the worst of his problems.

He was standing at the entrance of the hall, staring down the daunting white walls and doors with nothing in his gaze. He didn’t know why he didn’t feel the usual dread, why he didn’t feel like he was going to vomit.

Then again, at that point, he wasn’t the Kobra Kid, and Party Poison wasn’t Party Poison, and they were just kids stuck within one blank apartment with parents that didn’t know what they were doing.

Well, Kobra knew what they were doing - arguing. Arguing over this, arguing over that in hushed whispers in the bedroom so that no one could hear them. No one outside of the apartment, anyway, because Kobra could hear what they were saying.

They were in the bedroom on the right, last one down the hall. He remembered that crystal clear - across from them would be the office, and instead of a fully blank hallway, at the end of the hall was a fake fake  _ fake  _ family photo.

It was the only family photo in the whole house. It was the only thing to document Kobra and Poison growing up, their parents growing apart, and he’s always wondered why it brought him so much misery.

Kobra stared at it. He didn’t know how long he stared at it, slowly inching his way toward the end of the hallway, his fingernail running along the bumpy white-washed wall.

He stopped in front of his own bedroom door, confused, not wanting to look away.

What was it about that photo that made him so upset? That made it hard to look away?

That was a question that Kobra never did answer - though Poison answered it for him, once, when all the lackluster memories of the city had died down to make way for all the neon of the Desert; it was because, in that photo, they almost looked like a happy family. Kobra himself was beaming, shorter than Poison; Poison was in a button-up with freckles so under pronounced that Kobra struggled to recognize him; their parents were standing behind each child, smiling, something dead in their eyes but  _ smiling _ .

Kobra blinked, and the illusion shattered like glass. Like the glass of his window. Or the mirror in the bathroom. He wanted to see one of them break, but he was scared that he’d end up hurting himself in the process and they would realize he wasn’t on his emotional suppressants like he was supposed to and then they would take his anti-depressants.

But he doused his fear before it started to get bad - he was just...hyper-sensitive to everything going on, right. 

That meant he could hear his parents perfectly clear. He didn’t want to hear what they were arguing about, but he stood there, frozen, not wanting to go into his room but not wanting to stay out in the hallway where he could hear them.

“They need to get out of here!” That’s his mother, whisper-shouting; Kobra could imagine her throwing her arms out in exasperation, anger and exhaustion painting her features in the same way she created the perfect blank painting BLI wanted to see whenever she went to work.

He’d never been able to do that. He cried when he had to play pretend like that, and she’d told him when he was little that he needed to just fit in, then. 

Sometimes, Kobra liked to wonder what life would be like if he didn’t choose to sink into the back of a room, if he chose to be the center of attention and screw things up for everybody. Didn’t he deserve it?

“You know how dangerous it is out there! We can’t go and - keep your voice down!” His father was not keeping his voice down. He was louder than Kobra’s mother, probably. He doesn’t know what they’re talking about, but it sounds like change and Kobra stays frozen in a morbid curiosity.

Did he want change? What kind of change were they talking about? He  _ needed  _ to know more - and he couldn’t ask Poison for help, because whenever they were arguing Poison turned to his sketchbook and he was so violently paranoid about being caught with a sketchbook that if Kobra startled him he’d get a steak knife in his forehead.

Oh, well. Poison didn’t know how to use it anyway - Kobra was the one who knew how to use weapons. It was part of his classes. They - BLI - said he’d made a good BLI authority figure soon, coddled him with promises of this or that, no matter how much he acted out,

Kobra did not go and get Poison.

“We can’t - we can’t stay here! You  _ know  _ we can’t stay here - they’re close to catching us!” Was BLI close to catching them?

The only reason BLI could ever catch them was because…

Oh, oh no. The only way BLI could be on their tail would be because of  _ Kobra _ . Was this argument his fault?

Was he the reason they’d been arguing so much? Was he the reason that his mother stormed out, that the nice police officer came into their house and started asking Poison and Kobra questions about what went on at home?

Was Kobra the reason for all the violence? 

He hoped he wasn’t. God, the one in the Bible he wasn’t supposed to have read or known about, he didn’t want to be the reason for that. He didn’t want to come from violence.

And that being said, Kobra finally opened his own door, slamming it behind him with no regard for the consequences that could occur if the police or even  _ Dracs  _ happened to come to their home because they had too many complaints or concerned calls from neighbors. He’d get them all slaughtered.

It’s better than hearing the arguing.

He used to agree with his mother. He used to agree with everything she said, because she was his mom and she spent more time with him and bonding than his father ever did. Sometimes, when he was a kid, he thought his father was the worst person in the world for arguing with his mom, for the booming voice he always used for always bringing Kobra and Poison into it, to stand in the living room and just watch as they argued.

Then, he got older. Then, he realized that the world wasn’t so black-and-white. Then, he was told about Better Living Industries, and how they were  _ supposed  _ to have his best interests at heart, that it was corrupt but there really were people in the company that wanted to help. Like the people that developed his antidepressants.

And, oh, Kobra didn’t know what to do. He ended up sulking at his desk, wishing, wishing,  _ wishing  _ that he had music to keep him sane, but all he had was classical and he  _ hated  _ classical.

He didn’t want to hear them argue! He didn’t want to hear them fight! Kobra didn’t know why he thought it would help, all alone in his room when all it did was make his ears hurt, but he slammed his palms over his ears and squeezed until he heard ringing in his ears, keeping it there, too afraid to let go and hear arguing.

_ He  _ caused all that arguing. He was the reason his family was starting to fracture, wasn’t he?

Oh, God, was he the reason they were all going to die? Get reprogrammed and restarted or whatever they did, or placed in different homes?

Would he be the reason he got separated from Poison?

If Kobra got separated from Poison...No, no!

Okay. Calm down. Time to calm down. He can’t hear them anymore he can’t hear them  _ he can’t hear them anymore _ .

He can’t hear them, no, but his ears hurt and he wants to scream. So he takes his hands off his ears, and, blissfully, it’s silent. He still wishes he could scream, though. Scream or punch something, release some of the tension that’s started to build up in his head.

He doesn’t know what his mom was talking about, and he’s glad that he didn’t have to listen anymore - 

“Sweetheart, I -”

Kobra couldn’t hear the rest of it. He didn’t want to hear the rest of it. That was his father’s voice, using the pet name, and he  _ knew  _ that they were going to act like they weren’t arguing.

All would be fine. For a day or two, maybe - even a week, if they managed that. But they’d argue again. And it’d be all Kobra’s fault.

It wasn’t fine, and they were making up, and Kobra wanted to nap and sleep forever.

Except he didn’t like sleep. No, sleep was like...the opposite of everything he liked. He liked being awake so he could do things. He liked being awake so he could know what to brace for when he walked into the room with his parents. He liked being awake because sleep was...he didn’t know. 

Whatever. So he wasn’t going to sleep. Got it. 

But he did anyway, because he hated that everything was always his fault, and because his eyes were drooping and he wasn’t as stubborn as he appeared. 

His dreams were filled with warm sun rays and rock ‘n roll red and a Trans Am roaring to life with color.

The next day, Kobra’s backpack was filled with everything he needed from his closet, from the whim he got from a dream, and he and Poison disappeared, like the smiles his parents dropped when they walked into a closed room. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> So this was definitely a vent fic! What'd'ya think? One of these lines was legitimately from my journal I won't lie adfghjkl;.


End file.
